Weapons of SeeD
by OmoideKeeper
Summary: Squall thinks about each of the team as they head towards Trabia. Mild shounen-ai, but if you don't look for it, you (probably) won't find it.


Weapons of SeeD

By OmoideKeeper

* * *

  
How did I get here? 

I have to wonder that sometimes. It started off simply enough, an abandoned orphan's dream of becoming a great warrior, someone strong enough to fend for himself, strong enough to not have to rely on other people for my well-being. I wanted to become someone like those heros from the long ago stories a woman clothed in black I can never quite remember used to tell me. It started out as a child's dream, maybe, but it's all I had to cling to, and I've become who I am because of it. Without that tiny, pathetic wish, I'd never have gotten this far. 

I'm strong enough, now, to fend for myself against anyone. Put me in the wild with just my gunblade and I can survive for an undefined amount of time. My teachers saw to that. They were firm in their beliefs of what everyone should become, and I've become the perfect weapon for them to wield. Not only that, but the lessons I learned from others have also taught me well. 

Cold and aloof at first glance to anyone, deadly when I need to be to complete my missions. That's who I am now, one of the newest weapons of the mercenaries known as SeeD, set forth to destroy a nameless, faceless enemy, dictated only by my superiors and forced to lead a group of others who should have been allowed to choose their own leader. No such choice was made, and I was given the responsibility of these other lives. 

The field exam at Dollet was my final test, the members of SeeD and Headmaster Cid's way of making sure their forging of their bew weapon was solid and secure, sharp like a gunblade's point, strong like the heart that beats just beneath the skin at all times until death, while sleeping, while fighting, while talking, while tears stream down someone's face to grace the earth with their cool touch. Even though I passed that final test, sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I'd fallen just once more during that time, whether or not the other two I traveled with on that perilous run back to the ship would've survived to tell the tale, to travel with me now. 

Those two, as bright as the blazing sun but in their own separate, unique ways. Selphie, the delicate looking flower with deadly thorns hidden beneath that innocent, even naive, facade she puts forth to everyone she meets. She lies over there now, sleeping with her nunchaku close by in case of an emergency attack or a sudden wake up call. Always prepared for anything, whether it be acting sweet so others underestimate her, or destroying her enemies and the enemies of those she calls friends, those she would do anything for. 

She is another weapon well made by SeeD, forged in the harsh training, but fitted with wood to keep her from breaking in another's hands. 

Zell. What can I really say about him? He's an idiot, always talking back to authority, never fully at peace with anything, but he's an idiot with a genuinely good heart. Seifer calls him 'Chicken-wuss' but I know the truth behind why Seifer calls him that to his face. The youth who graced me with this scar on my face knows Zell has more courage than he could ever hope to have, and tries to deny it by insulting the other boy, trying to make him feel as though he isn't good enough, as if he doesn't belong anywhere, with anyone. Seifer doesn't understand at all. 

The weapon called Zell covers skin, protecting it from harm even as he attacks all those who stand in his way. 

The martial artist always seems to be so passionate about everything, throwing his entire being into anything he can, but I can see why he does that. He tries to silence the cries he cannot soothe. For beyond the skin lies a child hidden beneath, the one who still wants to know where he belongs, and just wants someone to take him in their arms and sooth away all the pain and fear and frustration. I watch as Zell tosses in his sleep, fighting invisible enemies who threaten him, and I can't help the soft, soothing murmur which falls forth from my lips as I quiet him, sinking him back into slumber so that he can survive another day and live on with his life. 

How do I understand that little boy within Zell? 

Another simple question. Another little boy, crying, lies within me, trying to understand why nothing makes sense. Why nothing completely fills the gaping hole called my soul, my heart, why I can't seem to cry the tears he sheds. I can't answer the questions he asks me, I can't tell him what he needs to know. There's nothing left within me that can heal that wounded look on his face as he calls out for "Sis" and whispers that he can take care of himself now. 

I cannot help that little boy because I know him. 

He's me. 

The weapon formed like a whip named Quistis turns in her half-sleep, whispering words of comfort to another, and for what seems like the first time ever, I realize she's not much older than the rest of us in this rag-tag band. Only a year, but she's had so many more experiences, already having been, and fired from being, an instructor. A feeling rises up in me, and I quench it down quickly. I can afford no sympathy, no understanding for her. She is now under my command, and weapons have no feelings. I have to constantly remember that, reminding myself I'm a weapon, that I can't worry about these people who've foolishly given me their lives to command. 

Not that it would've made a difference. Their lives are their own, even though they follow my orders because within each of their hearts they hold their own thoughts and emotions, not afraid to become more than the weapons they truly are. Is it really my fault they might get hurt, or even die tomorrow? They don't seem to mind, always talking to each other, simply being comfortable in one another's company. That's something I've never mastered, the ability to trust someone else enough to really get to know them, a skill I've never envied before now. 

Irvine twitches in his restless slumber, and I turn my thoughts towards our sharpshooter from Galbadia. His eyes hold so many secrets even though he seems so carefree and happy. A fantastic actor if I've ever seen one, but I can sense the same haunting behind closed lids which haunts myself and the others. Ghosts of the past wanting only to find out the truth of who they are, hidden spirits which can never be appeased. I know there's something he desperately wants to share with the rest of us, but he won't tell us, and it's beginning to harm the team's spirits. Maybe when we get to Trabia he'll open up more to the rest of us, and he can get rid of the sadness touching him. 

That weapon has yet to be finished, a strong one, but as of yet, unpolished. Something inside of me knows and acknowledges the fact that we may not yet see the finishing of this weapon, the trials we face are dangerous. Even so, the weapon Irvine will become, can become, is a graceful, deadly weapon of precision and accuracy, a fatalistic picture of the doom that shall come to those who injured the little boy within him and the ones who injured all others. 

And the last one among us. Not a weapon, but a delicate blossom of potential, the fiery Rinoa Hartilly. She alone sleeps well this night, dreaming of something, or someone. Seifer perhaps? I don't know. Rinoa holds so many unanswered questions within her, and I wonder sometimes if I'm doing her a disservice by obeying her orders and keeping her with us. It can only end in sorrow for her, and for the rest of us. Even so, I can't just leave her. Something about her makes me wonder what she hides behind her dark eyes, wonder what she knows. 

Somehow, these weapons and this blossom are my responsibility. 

"Squall?" a quiet voice behind me asks, and I turn slowly, realizing the speaker is more awake than I thought him to be earlier. 

"Yes, Zell?" I reply, keeping my mask in place. It wouldn't do to let the martial artist understand what I do, to realize that we are nothing more than weapons for others to wield into battle. I can't bear the thought of how he would react. 

"Go to sleep." 

I sigh, and go back to my bedroll, wondering whether or not everyone will live to see another sunrise. I don't know the answer, but I do know this. 

These weapons and this blossom have been given to me, and, even if it costs me my life, I'll fight to protect them. 

After all. One weapon can protect others if it's wielded correctly.   


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End file.
